My Angel
by Allyson Rae
Summary: HUDDY: "Maybe she really was his angel, sent to save him from pain—to save him from himself. He pulled her closer and closed his eyes, not willing to allow this moment to end quite so soon."; "I'm broken, abandoned; you are an angel." -Secondhand Serenade


**My Angel**

**Author's Note:** This was inspired by a line in a song I was listening to today. I was going to make a song-fic out of it, but the rest of the song was a little to OOC for House, so I didn't. I hope you enjoy. :]

***

"_I'm broken, abandoned; you are an angel, making all my dreams come true tonight."  
__- Secondhand Serenade, "Stranger"_

It was dark. The living room was illuminated only by the moonlight streaking through the single window, casting shadows across the floor. There on the couch sat Dr. Gregory House, nursing a bottle of scotch and a vial of Vicodin. His right leg was propped up carefully on his coffee table, as he absent-mindedly massaged his thigh with his hand. Sighing, he twisted the cap off the little orange bottle, and shook two more pills into his hand. He stared at them for a moment before tossing them into his mouth, swallowing them dry. He squinted as the bitter taste covered his tongue, and reached for the waiting bottle on his coffee table. He poured another glass, and threw it back, letting the taste of Vicodin be overpowered by that of the scotch.

House looked longingly toward his piano. He felt the need to play, but tonight the pain was so unbearable that he couldn't even find the strength to cross the room. He ran a hand over his tired face and through his thinning hair. This wasn't how he imagined his life to be when he was younger.

House was pulled from his self-loathing thoughts by the soft sound of knuckles against his front door. He groaned.

"I'm not getting up, so use the key or go away."

"House?" He would know that voice anywhere. Usually that voice was screaming at him, telling him to do his clinic duty or to find a safer procedure to treat his patients with. But tonight, the voice was soft, concerned. "Are you okay?"

He sat, silent, waiting for her to give up and leave. Instead, he heard her shuffling around for a moment, before the key slid into the lock and it clicked open. "House?" she called again. He looked up toward her voice. There, standing in the doorway, bathed in moonlight, was his boss, Lisa Cuddy, a worried expression on her face. She closed the door behind her, and closed the distance between her and the couch. She perched herself on the edge of his table, staring, waiting for his response.

After a moment he spoke. "What do you want?"

She swallowed. "I wanted to check up on you. You didn't look good today when you were leaving, and I wanted to make sure you got home okay."

"I don't need a babysitter. I am a big boy now; I can take care of myself."

Cuddy sighed. She knew he'd react this way, but she wasn't about to leave him here like this. She stood.

"Come on—you can't stay here on the couch all night. Let's get you to your bed." She looked at him, and prayed that just this once, he'd accept her help. He looked up at her, nodding in defeat. He knew damn well that tonight he wouldn't be able to make it himself.

He grabbed his cane and tried to push himself up. He stumbled, but quickly recovered when Cuddy grabbed him around the waist to help him steady himself. He grunted in almost-appreciation, before taking the first step toward his bedroom. Cuddy loosened her grip, but didn't let go completely as they slowly made their way down the hall. They paused in the doorway, and he leaned against the doorframe, breathing heavily. He relied more heavily on Cuddy's support from the doorway to the bed, before finally collapsing with a sigh of pained relief onto the mattress. He was sweating profusely, gritting his teeth as the pain reared its ugly head and seared through his leg with a vengeance. He lay back and swung himself into bed, not caring that he was still in the jeans he'd worn to work that day. Cuddy stood watching, unsure of what she should do.

"Cuddy," House breathed. She searched his eyes, finding nothing but pain within them. "There's a…brown lock-box under…the bed. Can…can you grab it?"

She nodded, kneeling on his hardwood floor and reaching under the bed. Her hands found the box and she gripped it, sliding it out toward her. She looked up at him, and he gestured toward the drawer in his nightstand. She opened it and pulled out a little silver key, sliding it in the lock on the box and turning it. Inside, she found all the supplies needed to inject a pain patient with morphine. She looked up at him, ready to lecture him about keeping these in his apartment, but stopped when she saw the amount of pain he was in. The lecture could wait.

"From 1 to 10, how's the pain?" She asked, as she prepared the injection.

House groaned. "15." He muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists. Cuddy sighed.

"Okay." She tied the tourniquet around his arm, and located the vein with an experienced eye. She tapped the needle to make sure there was no air trapped inside before piercing his skin and injecting the drug into his bloodstream.

House lay quietly, taking deep breaths as Cuddy cleaned up the mess she had made. She returned from her trip to the trash can, and locked the box back up, sliding it back to its place beneath his bed.

"How's the pain now?"

"About a 6; which is pretty damn good." Cuddy smiled as a genuine smirk appeared across his face. "Cuddy." He spoke again. "That box is only ever a last-resort; only when the pain gets this bad."

She nodded, patting his arm. "I know, House. I know." She sat down on the bed beside him, and rubbed her eyes, yawning softly. House noticed her exhaustion.

"It's late. Maybe you should just…stay here. I mean, if you were to fall asleep and crash on your way home, well...I'd have to break in a new Dean. No one wants that." He chuckled. So did she.

"I guess that would be a good idea. Okay." They sat in silence for a minute or two.

"There are some sweats and a t-shirt in the second drawer if you want." House looked away, focusing on counting the tiles on the ceiling.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks." Cuddy rummaged in the drawer, producing said sweats and shirt, before crossing the hall to the bathroom to change. She returned moments later, abandoning her skirt and blouse on the chair in the corner. She sat beside him again, feeling his forehead for a fever. Finding none, she was almost satisfied. "You sure you're okay?" She asked again.

"Yeah Cuddles, I'm fine, although I would be better if you would have given me a show. I mean, I lent you clothes…it was the least you could do." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. She laughed.

"In your dreams House. Go to sleep." She stood to leave, planning on curling up on his couch. House reached out a hand to stop her.

"Come on, you're not sleeping on my couch. Not after all I did to get you in my bed." He smirked, but then became serious. "Just stay here. I'm in too much pain to try anything anyway. Besides, it's much more comfortable than the couch." Cuddy sighed in defeat.

"Alright, but I swear House, you try anything, I'm gone." She was only half-joking as she climbed beneath the covers.

They lay there in the dark, both staring at the ceiling through the darkness. House shifted slightly and Cuddy gasped inaudibly as his leg brushed hers beneath the sheet. However, he didn't pull away from the contact, and neither did she. She listened as his breathing began to regulate, and he fell into a morphine-induced sleep. "Thank you…an angel," he muttered, most likely unaware of his words as sleep hit him. Cuddy smiled, reaching for his hand. She grasped it, intertwining her fingers with his.

"You're welcome," she whispered. And she too was captured by sleep.

***

Morning found the two doctors lying side by side, Cuddy's back against House's chest. His arm was draped protectively across her waist and his hand lay atop hers, fingers laced together. House slowly woke up, eyes opening to find the woman beside him bathed in sunlight. Maybe she really was his angel, sent to save him from pain—to save him from himself. He pulled her closer and closed his eyes, not willing to allow this moment to end quite so soon. He drifted back to sleep, thinking that maybe yesterday was the last time he'd have to wake up alone.

-Fin

***

**Author's Note:** Okay, so the end was a little fluffy, but I think I'm getting better at keeping House in character, for the most part. I really do just adore his character. The darkness; the mystery—the sexiness. Haha. I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading, and as always—feel free to review! :D

**xoxo  
**Allyson Rae  
"_Peace, Love & Music."_


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